Explore "Epitaph on Holy Willie" by Robert Burns on Textopian. Read with annotations and highlights.
Here Holy Willie's sair worn clay / Taks up its last abode; / His saul has ta'en some other way, / I fear, the left-hand road.
Stop! there he is, as sure's a gun, / Poor, silly body, see him; / Nae wonder he's as black's the grun, / Observe wha's standing wi' him.
Your brunstane devilship, I see, / Has got him there before ye; / But haud your nine-tail cat a wee, / Till ance you've heard my story.
Your pity I will not implore, / For pity ye have nane; / Justice, alas! has gi'en him o'er, / And mercy's day is gane.
But hear me, Sir, deil as ye are, / Look something to your credit; / A coof like him wad stain your name, / If it were kent ye did it.